


Modern Love (Walks Beside Me)

by megzseattle



Series: The Serpent and The Seagull [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), aziraphale on instagram is not entirely a good thing, twitter was made by demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-09 19:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19893178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: Crowley drags Aziraphale kicking and screaming into the new millennium by forcing him to get a mobile. All does not turn out exactly as he had hoped when Aziraphale takes to it a little bit TOO much..





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by one of your comments on Because You Move Me -- thank you for reading and commenting on the series so far! Pretty much fluff and humor this time, little to no angst. They can't be complete idiots in every single episode, can they? (This remains to be seen.)
> 
> This story references parts one and two of the series, and will make the most sense if you've read what comes before it. But you're welcome to start here if you're new to the Serpent and the Seagull! Enjoy!  
> .  
> .  
> Come visit me on tumblr at <http://ineffably-good.tumblr.com>

“You’re getting a phone,” Crowley announced one day. “I needed to reach you yesterday while you were out and I couldn’t. Time to join this century, angel.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I _have_ a phone,” he said, pointing at the end table near his desk. “It’s right over there.” 

They both took a moment to stare at the ancient, rotary phone with its fabric-covered wire and heavy, elongated handset. He had purchased it in 1928. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale. 

“I mean a mobile phone. One you can carry with you. In your pocket.”

Aziraphale sighed disapprovingly. “Why on earth would I want such a thing?” 

“To participate in the modern world even just a little tiny bit?” Crowley snarked. “To actually be reachable?”

Aziraphale looked unimpressed. He loved his old-fashioned phone, the weight and heft of it in his hand. He liked the time it took to dial and the physical routine of it, pulling and releasing each number and feeling the thrum as the dial turned, slowly. The telephone was solid, and beautiful, and well made, and made for a surprisingly good weapon if someone needed to be conked over the head. He couldn’t think of any qualities it was lacking.

“Okay,” Crowley said, reading the angel’s stubbornness on his face and cleverly changing tactics. “How about so I can call _you_ when I’m out and about and invite you to meet me for lunch?” he said. “Or so I can lure you back home when _you’re_ out. You know, for other reasons.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Aziraphale until he appeared to get his meaning. “General tempting and wiling will be much easier to accomplish if I can text you.” 

The angel blushed and smiled fondly at his demon. “Well that does sound generally pleasant.”

“Or what if one of us has a problem when we’re out and needs to reach the other?” Crowley added, his natural tendency to worry rearing its head. “What if one of us is hurt or in an accident and needs to Get through quickly? You can’t just summon the nearest pay phone anymore, you know.”

Aziraphale gave that one some thought. “I suppose you have a good point, there,” he said. “If I could’ve called you last month to let you know I’d missed the train back, that would’ve been very helpful.”

Crowley frowned. That had not been a good evening, by any account. Aziraphale had taken the train out to Manchester to see a book dealer and had missed his scheduled train back that evening. The next train wasn’t for hours and the only phone at the station had been out of service, so he’d had no option but to wait. When he’d arrived home at two a.m. instead of the expected dinner time, Crowley had been frantic with worry that something, or someone, had happened to him, and after ensuring that all was well, had been quite cross with him for days. 

“That,” he said finally, “is exactly my point. I want to know I can find you. Without, you know, miracling myself bodily to wherever you happen to be. We’re trying to attract less attention these days from both sides.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake” the angel said. “Is there any chance at all that you’re going to let this go?”

“Not really.”

Aziraphale had learned to pick his battles, and this was one he’d been expecting to arise for a while now. He truly didn’t see himself using the infernal device, but if Crowley wanted to get him one, he had already decided that he wasn’t going to put up much of a fight. He would get one, he would make appreciative noises, and he would put it in his coat pocket and never, ever look at it again. Problem solved.

“Well then,” Aziraphale said, standing up and straightening out his jacket and tie, “let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Crowley looked a little bit shocked. “Right now?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, why not?”

Crowley had no good answer to that, so off they went.

.  
++

“Can I help you?” asked a sales person at the electronics shop who appeared to all of nineteen or twenty. 

“Why yes,” Aziraphale said, smiling warmly and sounding just the tiniest bit officious as he often did when he was out of his element. “We are here for what I believe you call a Mobility Telephone.” 

_And afterwards, she is putting up a new thing, Aziraphale had once said, in exactly the same over-enunciated tone. I believe it’s called a rain-BOW._

Crowley rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “We need a mobile phone,” he interpreted. “Just point us in the right direction and we’ll take a look at them and let you know which one we want.”

After an excruciatingly long time as Aziraphale examined each and every detail of each and every phone in the display, the angel finally settled on a reasonably sized iPhone that fit nicely in his jacket pocket. Crowley was urging him towards larger and pricier models, but something about this one felt right to him, and Crowley was well aware by now that there was no point in trying to change his stubborn angel’s mind once he had come to a decision. 

They paid for their purchase and headed home, where Aziraphale immediately sat down with a rather large manual he’d insisted they purchase called, insultingly, “Mobiles for Dummies.” 

“Dinner?” Crowley said. 

“Not just yet,” the angel replied, distracted, pulling out his reading glasses, “I want to read this.” 

“The whole thing?”

“Yes indeed, my dear!” Aziraphale said, turning to chapter one with great enthusiasm. 

Crowley managed to not sigh, smiled fondly at his angel, and went off to find something else to do. It was probably going to be a long evening.


	2. Innocent Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley begins to realize he might have made a tactical error in getting the angel a mobile phone.

Crowley helped himself to a nice glass of zinfandel and sat down at the desk to commiserate with Frederick while Aziraphale worked his way laboriously through the manual for his new mobile. Frederick eyed him sleepily and then curled up around the demon’s neck in great contentment. He quickly began to let off his squeaky little snake snores. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said excitedly, some exceedingly boring amount of time later. “Did you know you can put a photo of someone you know on the front of your mobile so you see it every time you turn it on?”

Crowley looked up from the magazine he was perusing. “Yes,” he said, smiling gamely. “I did.”

“I’m going to put a photograph of you on there, love,” he said. 

“No, you’re not.” Crowley said definitively. 

“I shall,” Aziraphale insisted politely and finally, simultaneously turning the page and closing that discussion in its entirety. 

+

“Did you know you can buy little files to make your mobile play music when it rings?” Aziraphale looked positively enraptured. “I could get a little Schubert, or Chopin, or … or… or Sondheim even!” 

Crowley tried to go for gruff but his angel was just looking so adorable. “Yes,” he finally said, “you can do that if you like.”

+

Aziraphale read for a few more minutes. 

“Did you know you can send messages without using words at all? Just by using these little icons that mean things?” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley pretended ignorance. “You can? How would that work?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, “It’s easy! There’s a heart for love, and a whole variety of faces making the most charming little expressions, and – oh my, there’s a little demon with horns and there’s an _angel_!” He beamed. “It’s like it was made for us!”

Crowley laughed. “Send me a message, then, if you're so knowledgeable about it.” he said. 

Aziraphale huffed and laboriously typed for several minutes before he finally managed to send something off to Crowley’s number. He looked up expectantly and clapped when he heard the little bing indicating it had arrived at its intended recipient. 

Crowley looked down. 

> **eye emoji / heart emoji / demon emoji**

“That took you four minutes to type?” Crowley teased. 

“My fingers aren’t narrow like yours! It’s quite difficult to get the hang of!” Aziraphale whinged. 

The demon grinned, then tapped his screen for a few moments and hit send with a flourish. He leaned back and gave the angel a big wink. 

Aziraphale almost jumped when his text tone went off. “Oooooo!!” he cried delightedly. “My first message!” 

He looked down, tapped the screen with serious intent, and frowned as he read the text. 

He looked up at Crowley. “I don’t understand,” he said forlornly. “Is that a vegetable?” 

Crowley grinned lasciviously and wandered off to make himself a sandwich, since it appeared dinner was off the schedule. “You’ll figure it out. Keep reading your emoji chapter.” 

He was halfway through eating his sandwich in the kitchen when he heard a gasp from the other room. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished. “That’s neither proper nor decent!” 

Crowley smirked contentedly and took another large bite. 

++ 

The thing was that Aziraphale was actually quite good with computers, despite his reluctance to ever upgrade his equipment. He was rather more talented than Crowley when it came to spreadsheets and databases, all of which he ran on his ancient desktop computer which groaned and clunked along at a tortoise’s pace. And he’d quickly mastered the art of using the internet to hunt for books and rare vintages of wine – if computers could be used in the service of his particular passions, he was all for it. 

Crowley, for his part, was addicted to his mobile and loved to play games on it, and used google as much as anyone else, but his fancy laptops were mostly just for show, used only rarely and for the most minor of tasks. He had no understanding of the actual intricacies of computers and how they worked. If something malfunctioned, he generally melted or pulverized the entire unit, depending on how frustrated he was, and then replaced it. 

And he’d certainly never stooped so low as to read a bloody manual. Manuals, as far as Crowley was concerned, could just go fuck the fuck off. 

Given the angel’s obvious draw towards books of any kind and his need to master anything new quite thoroughly, Crowley was therefore not at all surprised that Aziraphale was deeply keen to learn absolutely everything he would never need to know about his phone. 

He was also not surprised that Aziraphale was still at it long after dark, so Crowley eventually gave up and went to bed. He woke up several hours later when Aziraphale was trying to quietly slip into the bed next to him. 

“Whazz – what time izzit?” the demon mumbled blurrily. 

Aziraphale smiled and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. “Very late,” he said softly. “Go back to sleep, love.” 

Crowley rolled over and threw an arm and one leg over Aziraphale, wrapping himself around him in a way that defied the physics of the typical human spine. 

“Did you get it all working?” he asked sleepily. 

“Oh yes, all tickety boo!” the angel said, pulling him close and laying a kiss on the top of his head as the demon lost consciousness again. “It’s quite lovely actually – thanks ever so much for buying me one!” 

++ 

A week later and the mobile obsession was no longer quite so cute. 

“I’ve created a monster,” Crowley moaned, as Aziraphale kept glancing distractedly at his phone instead of paying attention to the restaurant, to the meal, or more importantly, to him. “Put it away, angel, we’re at dinner.” 

Aziraphale looked abashed. “I’m sorry, Crowley! I don’t know what’s come over me.” He put the mobile back in his pocket and turned his attention fully to the meal and his companion. 

“Who are you texting, anyways?” Crowley asked. 

“Oh, you know,” Aziraphale said. “Anathema. Pepper, sometimes, and Wensleydale. A book contact out in Leeds who’s looking for something for me. Mrs. Barlow – you know, the nice older lady with the dog who comes into the shop? The pastry shop once in a while to check on offerings. It varies.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. So much for mobiles being the infernal work of Below. 

The reprieve lasted all of fifteen minutes before another little burst of that ridiculous Chopin nocturne blared out from Aziraphale’s pocket, indicating he had a message. Aziraphale froze with his wine glass in the air, mid toast, before recovering himself and clinking glasses with Crowley. He smiled at Crowley and took a deep drink before setting it down on the table. 

“Don’t pull it out again,” Crowley warned. 

“But it could be important!” 

“It isn’t.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because it’s only important if it’s from me,” Crowley said with what he thought was impeccable logic, “And I’m right here. Therefore, not important.” 

Aziraphale all but shimmied in his seat, a frown vexing his forehead. “All right,” he conceded, trying so hard not to give in, but unable to help himself as his hand dipped into his pocket and pulled out the phone. “I’m sure you’re right, I’ll just check quick as a flash in case it’s something urgent -- ” 

Crowley leaned over and plucked the mobile from his hand and dropped it into the pocket of his black leather blazer. “No you won’t,” he said. “Rude, that’s what that is.” 

Aziraphale huffed. “You’re the one that wanted me to get one!” 

“I had no idea how crazy you were going to get with it!” Crowley said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You can have it back when we leave.” 

Aziraphale pouted. 

He didn’t return it until they were all the way back to the bookshop. And then he made him work a little for it. He was a demon, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - I love to see your comments! Updates soon, although I'm at a cabin in the woods with terrible internet, so it might be a few days!


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale discovers the rabbit hole that is Instagram.  
> .  
> .

Aziraphale was out visiting galleries in Chelsea when he found himself drawn to a dead stop in front of a painting so breathtaking that he actually needed, for the first time, to use his mobile to make a call.

He stepped outside of the gallery because, manners, after all, and urgently called Crowley from the pavement.

“’Ziraphale,” the demon answered, suspiciously sleepy sounding. “What’s up?”

Aziraphale was momentarily distracted by thoughts of warm and rumpled demon emerging from the blankets, and he felt a sudden pull in his chest wishing he were home to see it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

“You need to come down to Chelsea right away,” Aziraphale said. 

“Why?” Crowley sounded instantly much more awake and a little worried. 

“Oh, nothing bad, love. I’ve just found a painting that we probably need to purchase. You’re going to love it. Come down right away before anyone else takes it, all right?” He rambled off the address and went back inside to stake out the painting and, if necessary, use minor miracles to prevent anyone else from purchasing it. 

Crowley showed up not thirty minutes later, dressed in an artfully cool black silk shirt and dark denim jeans, a slim indigo scarf around his neck and his hair falling into his eyes becomingly. Aziraphale watched as both the gallery owner and the receptionist practically tripped over themselves in their rush to greet him. Crowley just exuded the kind of moneyed, effortless chic that made gallery owners fawn over him; Aziraphale’s tweeded and bespectacled self mostly did not. 

After a few minutes of schmoozing, the demon made his way over to where Aziraphale was standing and laid a kiss on his cheek, sliding an affectionate arm around his waist. “So, which one?”

The angel pointed at the picture just to their left and watched Crowley’s face as he studied it. Titled simply **Eden** , the painting was somewhere between abstract and impressionism, awash in blues, greens, and oranges and showing a figure of Eve sitting on a riverbank sorting leaves, her skin tones flecked with undulating waves of blue and orange. Behind her the colors sketched a rough outline of the lushness of a garden, both ripe and on the verge of rotting at once. It was both beautiful and sad. 

“It looks like her,” Crowley said after a few minutes, voice gravelly, thinking of the woman he’d considered a friend once, many millenia ago. “Eve, I mean.” 

“It does,” Aziraphale said, nodding softly. “And look, there you are too.” He pointed to a soft shape along the bank that might have been a serpent.

They bought it, then went out to lunch for celebrate and to bicker pleasantly about where to hang it. 

++

“That’s the first time you’ve used your mobile as an actual mobile, you realize,” Crowley said at lunch. 

“It’s the first time I’ve had a need to,” Aziraphale said simply. “Usually you’re with me. No point in calling you.” 

The waiter arrived just then to place a gorgeous platter of crostini, dripping with goat cheese and honey and what might have been small bits of anchovy in front of them. He refilled both of their glasses with prosecco and disappeared in that manner all good waiters have. 

“Hold on!” Aziraphale cried, reaching out to swat away Crowley’s hand from taking a piece. “I need to photograph it!” 

Crowley blinked at him. “What?” 

Aziraphale ignored him and turned the dish a few degrees, pulled the candle over from the center of the table to light up the platter in a more flattering way, and then fussed with his mobile’s settings for an absurdly long time before taking, in short order, ten different shots of the dish from various angles. 

He finally sat back, looking pleased, and waved a hand magnanimously at Crowley. “Oh please,” he said, “after you!” 

Crowley glared at him for a few moments and then, never breaking eye contact, picked up the largest piece of toasted bread and took an enormous, aggressively messy bite. 

“Oh really, dear, must you be so uncouth?” Aziraphale muttered fondly. 

Crowley chewed heavily for a moment before he could answer. “What was that all about anyway?” 

“I’ve discovered the most delightful thing – it’s called Instagram! Have you heard of it?”

Crowley coughed. “A bit, yes. Might have created it, actually – I can’t quite remember. Definitely had a hand in Twitter, my side.”

“You take beautiful pictures and you post them online and other people like them and comment on them!” Aziraphale breathed, all aglow. “And a lot of them are food-related! It’s like… it’s like heaven.” 

Crowley grinned. “You’ve got an Instagram.” It was more a statement than a question.

“I’ve started one, yes.”

“What’s it called?”

“I called it AziraphaleEats.”

“I’ll have to look you up later,” Crowley said. “Now please, let’s get on with dinner.”

++

He didn’t get a chance to look it up until several days later. By the time Crowley found Aziraphale’s Instagram page, it had over a hundred images on it, all carefully curated and well-lit and composed to highlight each delicate morsel. He clicked on the one from crostini night to see what Aziraphale had written.

> Dined this afternoon at L’Ultima Cena with my dear Crowley. Shared this exquisite crostini topped with figs, sardine, goat cheese, honey, and arugula – absolutely scrumptious! Nice wine, nice company, and wonderful food. #blessed #thathoneytho #dinnergoals #yolo #foodporn #winning

Crowley rolled his eyes and brought up a quick list in google of the 15 stupidest hashtags on earth and was impressed to see that Aziraphale had made a quick mastery of using at least a third of them.  
  


He still clicked the little heart sign, though, before he left. He loved how the angel lit up every time he got a like. 

++

“Crowley, look, I got 75 likes on my last few pictures!” Aziraphale said that evening. “I think I’m getting some regular followers!” 

Crowley hrmed distractedly and continued staring in the mirror and attempting to concentrate his hair into growing longer and redder. 

“There’s one person who seems to be liking every single thing I post,” Aziraphale murmured, continuing to peer through his social media accounts. 

“Oh really?” Crowley asked. “Who’s that?”

“The account is named @snek_lover. Very strange – no pictures at all, no activities except for apparently looking through my posts and liking them.”

Crowley looked up. “Should I be jealous?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh no,” he said, “not at all.” 

Something in Crowley’s voice made him stop and narrow his eyes suspiciously. 

“Crowley,” he said consideringly. “Are you ‘at snek underscore lover’?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Crowley said, the very picture of cool and collected.

++

Instagram got more intrusive in their lives very quickly. Nearly every meal was now interrupted by long photo shoots before anyone was allowed to take a bite, and it was all Crowley could do to prevent the angel from sitting there editing the photos right at the table when he should have been eating. 

“What’s happened to you?” Crowley said, one night. “Food used to be your favorite thing in the world and now you hardly even think about the actual _eating_ part of it. You just want to photograph it.”

Aziraphale crinkled his nose. “I’m sorry, a bit too much, dear?”

“A bit,” Crowley said. “I feel like I hardly have your attention any more, these days.” 

Aziraphale looked stricken. “Oh, my dear,” he said, dropping his mobile into a pocket and reached over for Crowley’s hand. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been acting like a child with a new toy, and you’ve been much too patient with me. I’ll cut back."

“I love your enthusiasm for new things,” Crowley said, allowing himself to be mollified. “But I’m going to put a parental lock on that thing if you don’t get it under control.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Aziraphale said, aghast, not knowing what that was but knowing instinctively that it was something he wouldn’t like at all.

“I should hope not,” Crowley agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The painting I described is loosely based on this one, although much more garden-y:  
> shorturl.at/uvySW
> 
> Because I'm a total dork, you should probably go look up AziraphaleEats on Instagram. Apparently I have nothing better to do with my time. :)
> 
> Please comment if you're enjoying! Your comments make my day and keep me writing about these two goofballs.


	4. Welcome to the Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale discovers trolls, contemplates puberty, and has a discussion about privacy.  
> .  
> .

When Crowley came down the next morning, he could tell immediately that something was not right with Aziraphale. Instead of happily fussing with the morning papers or making a five course meal out of breakfast, he was sitting at the kitchen table morosely stirring his tea and staring into space. 

Crowley sat down next to him. “What’s wrong, angel? You look like someone yelled at you, and I know it wasn’t me this time.”

Aziraphale met his eyes, startled. “Someone DID yell at me! How did you know?”

Crowley tried to stifle the immediate sense of burning anger he felt. No one else was allowed to yell at his angel, and even he tried to do it as infrequently as possible, as he generally just felt guilty about having done so five seconds later. 

“Who?” he asked, his voice low and urgent. “Who was mean to you? Tell me.”

Aziraphale let out a wavering sigh and pushed his mobile across the table at Crowley. “This horrible man – woman? – well this horrible person left the most insulting comments on my Instagram feed. Just read it.” 

Ah. Well this was something the bloody manual probably should have covered, Crowley thought. 

He picked up the mobile and clicked on a few of Aziraphale’s recent posts, reading the comment streams beneath them silently for a moment. There was the usual stream of inane positivity, full of fluffy and saccharine statements of support, and then things began to go a little bit south.

“Do you mean this person who’s offering you sexual shenanigans?” Crowley asked, looking up.

“No, no, that’s just a lost soul,” Aziraphale said distractedly, “No need to fret, dear. It’s further down…” 

Crowley kept reading, until he got to a string of obnoxiousness making liberal use of insults, all caps, and blatant attempts to bait someone into an argument.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said gently, “this is just part of using the Internet. Some people just lurk out there looking for anyone they can abuse or start trouble with. It’s called trolling.”

“He or she said that my photographs are awful, they insulted my overall aesthetic, and they said I clearly have no taste in food!” Aziraphale said. “Me! No taste!” He sniffed indignantly. “And my aesthetic is quite lovely! Look at all those beautiful muted tones.”

Crowley clicked on the next few pics and saw that the same user was making sport of showing up on just about every picture and acting generally insulting. His frown deepened, though, when he noticed that Aziraphale had started answering him and debating his points. 

“It’s really not a good idea to interact with trolls, angel,” Crowley warned. “It just makes them worse. They thrive on the attention, and arguments are like ambrosia to them.”

“But – but he’s wrong! About literally everything!”

“Even so. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you! The more reaction they get, the more motivated they are to continue.”

Aziraphale deflated and stirred his tea a little more. “All right, you’re probably right,” he conceded. “I had no idea people had such horrible hobbies! I’ll try to just ignore it.”

Crowley gave him a hug, showed him a few settings he could change to block particular users and change how broadly his posts were shared, and then went off to read the paper on the couch. 

Aziraphale watched until Crowley was out of sight, then got online to make one more comment in the long argument he’d been having with his troll all morning.

> _I forgive you, troll._

That left the angel feeling virtuous, which was always helpful when one was down in the dumps. And then he turned off the mobile and, instead of pocketing it, laid it on the desk. He somehow didn’t feel quite so much like playing with right now. 

Crowley did a little investigating on his own mobile into this idiot who was bothering his love, tracked his account down to an email address, and then used his infernal talents to send a little curse into his inbox. The next time he opened a message, he was going to find all of his passwords reset to names of demons in ancient languages which he had better hope he never unraveled, as typing any of them in would immediately attract the wrong sort of attention from Below. 

Satisfied, Crowley sat up with a smile on his face and set about seeing what he could do to cheer up his angel. 

++

“Let’s go feed the ducks, today,” Crowley suggested. “We haven’t done that in a while!”

“Oh that sounds lovely!” Aziraphale smiled gamely at Crowley, although it didn’t really reach his eyes. “Let me get some bread from the kitchen and we’ll be off.”

They strolled to St. James Park, and were pleased to find their usual bench unoccupied. Crowley slung an arm along the back of the bench so that he could brush his fingertips against Aziraphale’s shoulder as the angel threw bits of bread to a group of ducks who obviously knew him by sight. The usual London mist had cleared and the sun shown grandly on them, and soon enough Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s mood lift a little. 

“I suppose I’ve been a little silly,” he said eventually. “Getting so crazy about the mobile and meals and the internet and everything. I’m too old to be making such a fool out of myself over things like these – I’m practically ancient.”

“No you’re not,” Crowley said. “Don’t say things like that about yourself.”

“I’m six thousand years old, Crowley, and I’ve been acting like I’m twenty.”

“You’re an immortal being,” Crowley pointed out reasonably. “For us, six thousand years isn’t even that long of a time period! Practically the blink of an eye, if you think about it, compared to eternity. On a celestial timescale we could practically be – why, we could just now be reaching adolescence, for all we know. Celestial puberty.” He shuddered a little as what he had just said sunk in. 

Aziraphale considered that one for a moment. Celestial teenagers, full of hormones and aggression? Intensely self-conscious? Adrift in rampant emotions and a lack of impulse control? Considering their new romantic relationship and the wash of new feelings and desires it had engendered in both of them, it could very well be true. What a horrifying thought.

They stared at each other for a moment in mute distress. 

“And anyways,” the demon continued, shaking off that line of reasoning completely, “if all this social media stuff makes you happy, I’m all for it.”

“Oh please,” Aziraphale said, “I _know_ I’ve been driving you crazy.”

Crowley thought for a moment. “Only in a couple of ways, but not as a whole. Yes, I’d like you to put it away at dinner, and there are some privacy issues. But in general, you seem to enjoy it, and that’s not a bad thing.” 

Aziraphale blinked. “Privacy?”

“Well,” Crowley said, trying to pick his words carefully. “I don’t really like to be splashed all over the internet. Not great in my line of work for any idiot to be able to find out all about me with a single Internet search. Plus, you know, Hastur and most of the demonic hordes aren’t very aware of the internet, but Dagon is pretty computer savvy – I’m pretty sure he has a guy checking up on me online once in a while too. The less my name is out there, the better.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, chastened. “I hadn’t thought about that. I’ve been putting you at risk!”

“Not necessarily, but I googled myself the other day and the first fifteen results were all Instagram posts of yours with sappy comments about me,” Crowley said. “Can’t really maintain any intimidation factor when you’re out there telling the world what a cream puff I am and how we’re –“ he made finger quotes – “’hashtag blessed’. Demons aren’t supposed to be hashtag blessed, I don’t think.”

“Well perhaps not,” said Aziraphale stubbornly. “But we are, though.”

“We are _what_?”

“Blessed!” the angel burst out, looking down shyly. His cheeks were turning a bright shade of pink. “Or whatever you choose to call it. You know we are.”

Crowley felt two completely contradictory things – first, his usual quick irritation flared at being told that he was nice or kind or blessed or loved. And second, underneath that, his secret marshmallow self that he did his utmost to hide just curled up in delight like a little dog and lapped at the happiness and love the angel offered to him with both hands, and then rolled over and offered up his belly for pats. 

Love, he decided for the ten thousandth time, was utter torture. But being the thoroughly infatuated bastard that he was, he resigned himself to his fate and leaned over and kissed Aziraphale softly. 

“I know we are, angel,” he said, pulling back a little to cup the angel’s cheek in his hand. “And I’m glad of it, truly, but I’d rather you didn’t shout about it all over the internet. If that’s all right.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course, dear,” he said. I’ll stop posting about you if you want.” 

“Thank you,” Crowley said, rewarding him with another kiss. 

They sat peacefully for a few minutes, enjoying the view, and the ducks wandered away on finding their bread supply depleted. 

“What’s your bakery contact tell you about the likelihood of strawberry tarts today?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale pulled out his mobile, typed away for a moment, and then waited. After a minute or two, there was a ding and he glanced down to take a look. “Chances are extremely good!” he reported. “She’s putting two aside for us now.”

Crowley stood up and offered his arm to the angel, who accepted with a smile. 

“You are, though, aren’t you?” Aziraphale said, apropos of nothing, as they strolled off in the direction of the patisserie. “At snek underscore lover, I mean?”

Crowley looked up at the trees near them and feigned interest. “Is that a raven? Look! Oh shoot, he flew away.” 

“I knew it!” Aziraphale crowed, delighted. “I knew it was you, my dear.”

Crowley grinned. “Someone has to keep an eye on you, you pillock.”

Aziraphale swatted him. “Now, really, my dear. You know that's not on the acceptable list of terms of endearments.” 

Somehow, the sun seemed just a little bit brighter for the rest of their walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> And we're almost at the end - just a short epilogue left from an outtake I couldn't fit in here... Thank you for reading -- I love to read your comments!


	5. Epilogue: All's Well That Ends Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot of our heroes six months later: in which Aziraphale is building a social media empire and Crowley is too sexy for his shirt.

_Six months later_

In the Office of Infernal Files, chief file demon Dagon conjured a spark of hellfire with a fingertip and pressed it to the power button and waited the entire 3 minutes for their ancient Windows 95 laptop to boot up with what they thought was an infinitude of patience – for a demon, that is. Meaning that they only discorporated two of their assistants while pacing the room waiting for that final note to alert them to the fact that the machine was up and running. They then spent thirty-two tries trying to get the password right (this was Hell, after all), and twelve minutes trying to connect to the wifi. 

Finally – four assistants, an office chair, and three donuts destroyed later – they were connected. 

“All right, let’s see now,” Dagon muttered, cracking their knuckles and getting to work. They pulled up an ancient version of Netscape and laboriously typed in C-R-O-W-L-E-Y D-E-M-O-N and hit enter. 

_You have mail!_ An AOL popup screen bleated merrily, causing Dagon to utter a string of curses and banish the window into eternal torment. (In fact, they only sent it on to torment the lower demons in the workrooms around him, but the effect was the same in that the message and all responsibility for it were eliminated forever from their thoughts.)

Finally the search returned and they began sifting through any notices of what their rogue agent was up to. 

Very little, as it turned out. Most of the entries returned were about a demon named Choronzon that someone named Aleister Crowley had summoned. There were entries from an irrelevant television show about demon hunters. There was one odd photograph from a newspaper that appeared to show the actual demon Crowley standing on the sidelines of some kind of protest that turned unfortunately violent; this seemed appropriate, so Dagon quickly dismissed it and moved on. There were one or two tax notices about overdue or unpaid property taxes referencing an A. Crowley, which also met with corporate’s approval, and for the most part, that was that. 

Satisfied that Hell’s cover was being maintained, Dagon moved on to searching for their own self, and got sucked into spending the next few weeks reading deeper and deeper into the work of a strange man from New England who wrote about eldritch terrors and the denizens of the deep. By the time Dagon finished reading, they had created quite a file of ideas for horrors and temptings to accomplish over the next decade. 

All things considered, a productive round of work. 

+++

“Crowley, I’ve got 500 followers on Instagram!” Aziraphale stated delightedly, leaning back in his desk chair with his hands behind his head and allowing himself a rare moment of basking contentedly in his own glory. 

“That’s quite an audience, angel!” Crowley said with a smile. “Good for you.”

Aziraphale had some time ago scrubbed his various accounts of all mention of Crowley, referring instead to his dining partner as “my mysterious companion” or, occasionally, “my handsome associate.” This strategy, initially set up to protect Crowley’s identity, had actually been wildly successful, as readers seemed very interested in who this romantic figure might be and frequently trolled the comments looking for tidbits of info. Aziraphale, ever the showman, had played into this inscrutability with increasingly flirtatious and affectionate hints about Crowley without ever really revealing who he was discussing. There were no pictures of him, and so far, the angel had been able to both have his cake (in publishing his thoughts about superlative meals at will) and eat it too (in holding his secrets close).  


All in all, it was quite a successful strategy. 

“By the way,” Crowley said, “I texted you a couple times earlier when you were out doing the marketing. You ignoring me?”

“You did? I didn’t get anything!” Aziraphale looked confused. He dug out his mobile and handed it to Crowley. “Never made a sound!” 

Crowley typed in the passcode (Freddy in alphanumeric form) and poked at the screen with his finger, then pointed to the large number of text message notifications scrolling by on the screen.

“Oh….” Aziraphale said, crestfallen. “Look at all the good things I missed! Is it broken?”

Crowley, pouting sympathetically, checked a few settings and poked around a bit, checking notification status, volume levels, and various other settings. 

“I think it’s fixed,” he said finally, handing it back to Aziraphale. “I’m going to call you from mine and see if it comes through.”

Crowley hit the shortcut for calling Aziraphale and at first looked relieved when it rang clearly and loudly – and then slowly frowned. He realized suddenly that he had never actually been in the room to hear it when the angel received a call from him.

> _I’m ... too sexy for my shirt… too sexy for my shirt … so sexy it hurts…”_

“Angel,” he said, “what on earth is that _sound_?” 

> _I’m ... too sexy for your party… too sexy for your party … no way I’m disco dancing…”_

Aziraphale smiled. “It’s your ringtone! By a bright young man named Fred, I believe?” 

> _I’m… too sexy for my car… too sexy for my car … too sexy by far…”_

Crowley listened to the words for a few more moments. 

It _was_ kind of catchy. 

“Ok, I’ll allow it,” he conceded, preening just a little. “Nice choice, angel.” 

Aziraphale grinned and cleared the call. As he powered the mobile off for now – they had agreed, after a while, to limit mobile use at home as much as possible – he stopped to smile fondly at his beloved lock screen picture, a blown up version of one of the old photographs he’d taken of Crowley and Frederick asleep together in the sunlight. The picture made his stomach pool with happiness, and if he occasionally found call to leave it lying in plain sight of customers and waiters and friends so that other people could admire his two loves, well that was no one’s business but his own. 

Aziraphale touched each of their noses, gently, on the screen, and the powered down. 

Time for real life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> And that's the end of this round! I'd like to point out that of course Hell's computers run on Windows 95 and use Netscape. Also, Hell created AOL.com and the powers that be insist that they continue to use it for all of eternity. 
> 
> I would love to hear some guesses on what Hell's wifi might be called. :) :)
> 
> Please comment if you enjoyed! I've started the next story but it might be a little while as it's still taking shape -- if you're not already subscribed to the main series page, subscribe there to get notified any time a new set of chapters begins in the Serpent and the Seagull universe. Also feel free to share your thoughts on anything you'd like to see coming up. I have several outtakes I need to get around to working in eventually, including a) what happens when Crowley finds out about Frederick's middle name, b) what happens when Frederick gets to see Crowley in snake form, and c) a situation involving Aziraphale being forced to drive the Bentley. Infernal amusement awaits! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr at <https://ineffably-good.tumblr.com>.
> 
> We have fan art! Thank you to the talented artists out there who have taken a minute to draw our little Frederick. I welcome any and all contributions!
> 
> 1) @rocketbeagle did a drawing of Frederick the snake! I love it. Go like their pic of : [Frederick curled around Crowley's neck](https://rocketbeagle.tumblr.com/post/186197588881/Frederick).
> 
> 2) Also from @rocketbeagle: [a full portrait of Frederick! ](https://rocketbeagle.tumblr.com/post/186339285825/have-another-frederick-uvu-from-ineffably-goods)
> 
> 3) From @akinmytua2, [this great pic of Frederick curled up in the sun on a bookshop chair.](https://akinmytua2.tumblr.com/post/187453068510/kodachrome-was-because-you-move-me-chapter-1)
> 
> 4) Also from @akinmytua2, this gorgeous view of :  
>  [ Frederick in the messenger bag from London Calling, right before he sneaks out to eat the bird](https://akinmytua2.tumblr.com/post/187743485645/london-calling-chapter-1-megzseattle-good)


End file.
